Love and Boundaries
by janie17
Summary: one-shot with fairly asexual!Sherlock, they discuss Sherlock's feelings on intimacy and how to proceed in their relationship. really crap summary, but i swear the story is better. T because I'm paranoid.


A/n: This is my first Sherlock fanfic. I had been wary of writing one because I wasn't sure if I could get the characters right (and I'm not sure I have), but this just really wanted to be written. Forgive me if they are a little OOC but the thought of an almost asexual!Sherlock was something I just couldn't get out of my head. Also, I am definitely not British, although one of my cousins is, and must ask you to forgive the obvious American behind the keyboard.

Discliamer: I do not own _Sherlock_ nor do I own the characters therein; however, I do have a birthday coming up and my mother always prefers to give your heart's desire as a gift, so we shall see at the end of May!

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"Mm, Sherlock?" John said, slightly out of breath, as he pulled away from his consulting detective, breaking the kiss.

Sherlock's brow furrowed. "What is the matter, John? Did I do something not to your liking?"

"No, of course not. You're doing fine." He gently brushed the dark curls from the younger man's face. "But…" he hesitated, chewing on his bottom lip.

"John?" Sherlock's frown deepened ever so slightly. "But what?" The blond man sighed before clearing his throat.

"But…is it to your liking?" he asked carefully, fixing Sherlock with a serious but open expression.

Sherlock tried to keep his face passive as he responded, "You know I care deeply for you and that there is no one else I'd rather be doing this with."

"And you know that wasn't what I was asking. Nice try, though," John said with a small chuckle. "And, for the record, I care deeply for you, as well. Now, will you answer my question?"

"Yes. I am," he paused for a heartbeat, almost uncertain of his words, "enjoying myself."

"Sherlock," John sighed, "you are brilliant at many things, but lying to me isn't one of them." Sherlock opened his mouth to speak, but finding no words, closed it again. "I did a bit of deducing, myself, and figured out your tell. When you lie to me you get the smallest of frowns and look just slightly above my eyes."

"Very good, John," Sherlock said weakly. "Keen observation." His eyes dropped to their laps, watching as he picked at an imaginary string on the couch.

"Sherlock, mate," John cupped his cheek with his hand. "Look at me. I could feel that you weren't really into it, so just tell me what's wrong, love, and we can sort it out."

"Don't worry about it, it is nothing. Let's just get back to what we were doing." He started to lean forward, but a firm hand on his shoulder stopped him. A look of desperation crossed his face, as he willed the conversation to be over.

"Sherlock, if something is upsetting you, then it's not 'nothing'. Just tell me so I can help you." John gave Sherlock's shoulder a reassuring squeeze, smiling as Sherlock placed his left hand on top of his.

"No really, it's nothing, trivial." He forced a smile. John's face took on a hard, determined look. Sherlock sighed. "Fine, John. But you'll think I am just being stupid."

"Never," he said sincerely. "What is it?"

"I don't find—and this is through no shortcoming of your own—the act of _snogging_" he paused to grimace around the word, "to be very enjoyable." He ducked his head, hoping that John didn't notice his cheeks turning a violent shade of pink.

"Oh…erm…huh." John was at a loss for words. He rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "But, it's…um…you're sure, that is…it's…not…ahem…not because of me?" he asked haltingly.

"Of course not, John. You are perfect."

"Right," John said sceptically. "But, I mean, you said yourself that you don't really have much experience in this area, so it could be me and you just don't realise?"

"I am quite sure that it isn't you, as before we met I didn't even have any interest in this area. It is certainly not you. I am also quite sure that if it is something you truly require I may be able to learn to like it, which is why I was unwilling to tell you in the first place," the dark haired man said with an air of resignation.

"Sherlock! I'm not going to force you to do something you don't like. Unless it is the important stuff, like eating and sleeping. But otherwise, I would never force you to do anything just for the sake of my pleasure. Do you believe me?" Sherlock nodded, his dark curls bouncing slightly. "I'd feel a lot better about that if I heard you say it out loud, love."

"John Hamish Watson, I believe that you would never force me to do anything that wasn't directly related to my health and wellbeing," he said firmly, looking him in the eyes.

"Thank you." Sherlock gave a small almost-smile in return. "Do you think, maybe, you could try to explain it to me? So I can understand where you're coming from?"

"I could try. But I am not sure how to start."

John frowned slightly as he thought. "How about start by saying what it is exactly that you don't like about it? Could you do that?"

"All right. Well," he sighed as he fought to find the words to express himself. "It's…wet. And tongues are not the most appealing of body parts. Really it just doesn't feel natural to have faces that close together for an extended time." Sherlock's eyes dropped once more to his lap. "You must think I'm mad."

John smiled softly. "Utterly," he said, fondness filling his voice. He placed a hand on Sherlock's face, thumb running gently over the younger man's cheekbone as he urged him to look back up. "But this isn't why." John bit his lip, fighting the urge to lean in for a kiss and mentally kicking himself for even having the impulse to in light of the conversation they were having.

"You desire to kiss me again," Sherlock commented with a forced calm, his heart stuttering slightly.

"Yeah…sorry about that. You're just really adorable." He chuckled softly, "For lack of a better word."

"No, I like it. Of the many things I've been called before, adorable is not one. Though it is possibly one of the nicest."

"Oh, Sherlock," John said sadly.

"It doesn't matter, that is behind me. Besides, I have you now." Sherlock smiled at the blond man seated beside him, who returned it gladly. "Um, John," he said hesitantly, "Might you possibly tell me why?"

"Why, what?"

"Why there was such a sudden spike in your desire to kiss me. I didn't think I did anything very interest peaking."

"Everything you do, Sherlock Holmes, is interest peaking. But just then you were being very cute in your confusion and discomfort. And in most relationships when one does something cute they are usually rewarded with a kiss. Since I've never been with anyone with this problem, I suppose it is just habit. But—," he stopped talking noticing the flicker of emotion flow over Sherlock before his cool façade crashed over it.

"That's not what I meant. I didn't mean problem as in something wrong. I meant it more as…ah…idiosyncrasy. Sherlock, I'm sorry. John reached for his hand, wincing as the younger man jerked it away. "Sherlock!" he pleaded, scooching closer towards him, one hand coming to rest on his knee as the other rested on his shoulder, thumb resting softly against the tense muscles beneath the soft button up shirt. "It's not a problem. It isn't something to be solved or fixed, because there is nothing wrong. I am so sorry that I misspoke. Truly sorry." He leaned up slightly, placing a soft kiss on his forehead before allowing his hand to slide down a few inches to rest against Sherlock's bicep. He breathed a silent sigh of relief as he felt some of the tension drain.

"It's all right. I suppose your word choice wasn't even all that off. I just—" He closed his eyes, lips in a tight line as he drew in a deep breath through his nose. "I don't want to make this harder on you than it already will be."

"Harder than…? Sherlock? What do you mean, 'harder on me'?"

"You're a man." John's eyebrows shot up questioningly.

"Yes. I don't notice as much as you, but I had rather grasped that concept." Sherlock grimaced, not at all amused. "Fine. Please continue."

"You have stated on at least fifteen separate occasions that you are not, in fact, gay. So, naturally, having so adamantly denied a preference for males, entering into a homosexual relationship would be expected to be difficult."

"Every relationship is bloody difficult. This one won't be any harder than any other relationship. Hell, we already know all the stupid things about each other that cause problems when people first discover them since we live together!"

"But—," John cut him off swiftly.

"And the fact that we are both blokes doesn't mean I've stopped 'denying my preference for men,' or whatever you said. It means that my preference is _you,_ Sherlock. My preference is you." Sherlock smiled. "C'mere," John commanded gently.

Sherlock allowed himself to be pulled into a hug, burying his face in the other man's neck. He took a deep breath, breathing in the clean smell of soap, woolly jumpers, and something else that could only be described as delightfully John. Loosening his embrace, Sherlock pulled away enough so that his face was inches away from John's. "You're my preference, also," he muttered softly, before pressing a quick kiss to the corner of the other man's mouth.

"Erm…Sherlock?" A look of bewilderment was plastered across his face. "Not that I'm complaining, but I thought you didn't like kissing? I'm confused."

"As a whole, I don't. But I suppose that certain kinds are far more appealing than others."

"More appealing, or actually pleasant?" John asked carefully.

Sherlock easily side-stepped the question, "I felt that you would appreciate the sentiment held behind the gesture."

"And I do. But I don't want you to do something simply because I will like it but you won't. Do you know what I mean?"

"I understand. Thank you, John, for trying to put my comfort ahead of your desires." Sherlock squirmed a little, pulling his legs onto the couch with them and curling closer to his love, who still had an arm wrapped around him.

John tightened his grip on the other man once he was settled. "Of course your comfort comes first! My biggest desire is to be with you in whatever manner you will have me. Just being able to call myself your boyfriend is enough to keep me eternally happy. To ask anything else of you would be too much." He ran his hand down Sherlock's forearm, smiling at the small shutter that went through the dark haired man.

"Thank you for understanding. I don't know why you put up with me when no one else will. I am lucky to have you." Sherlock sighed happily as John ran a hand through his hair.

"I put up with you because I love you, you great berk. That's why," John said with a fond chuckle. He fell instantly silent as he felt his companion go rigid under his arm. "Oh," he breathed.

"You…love me?" Sherlock pulled away from John, turning once more to face him.

"I…yeah. I'm sorry. It's completely too soon to say that. To think it even. I didn't mean to make it weird. Why don't we just turn on the telly for a bit before I go to bed," John rambled nervously, running his hand against the back of his neck, an apologetic look on his face. Sherlock didn't respond, just sat with a blank expression, as if his internal hard drive had crashed. John was about to reach for the remote when something clicked inside Sherlock, finally allowing him to speak.

"You said you love me," he said softly, his voice a low rumble.

"I know, it was an accident. I shouldn't have said it. I know how you claim to feel about sentiment and I've probably gone off and ruined your first relationship by saying it too early. But we can just pretend it didn't happen, right? Just try to do that?" the older man pleaded.

"John," Sherlock whispered.

"Sherlock." He spoke softly, matching the other man's tone.

"You said you love _me_."

"It really shouldn't be all that surprising. It's not like I'm trying to hide it, but—,"

Sherlock interrupted him, "Did you mean it?"

"Of course, but—," he paused at the contemplative look on the younger man's face.

"I…I am not entirely sure of the etiquette of the situation; however, it would seem that the appropriate time in a relationship for one to confess their love to the other is when they are fully sure of that fact, and are reasonably convinced that the emotion will be reflected in their partner."

He sighed. "I know this, Sherlock. Which is why—,"

"Which is why this admission was not wholly inappropriate in timing. That is to say, I love you too."

"I…wow…Okay," John ran a hand through his short hair. "Um…wow," he continued, stammering. "I was, uh, ahem, uh, not expecting…this is good. This is good," he repeated more confidently.

"It really shouldn't be all that surprising, John," Sherlock mocked, lips twitching as he held back a grin.

"No. No, I suppose it shouldn't be." John sighed.

Sherlock's happy expression faded, replaced with one of concern. "What is it, John?" The blond man sighed again, shifting slightly in his seat. "You feel there is more left to discuss regarding the physical nature of our relationship. I had rather hoped you would leave this for another time," he deduced, frowning.

"I know, but it's better if we talk about it now so I will know what boundaries not to cross." John tangled their hands together, rubbing the back of the younger man's knuckles with his thumb. "I never want to cross a line or make you uncomfortable. But first I have to know where those lines are. Okay?" Sherlock nodded his agreement. "Good. So we know kissing is off the table. What about cuddling and handholding? You appear to be fine with those, but I have to ask."

"Yes, I am most agreeable to those activities," Sherlock responded. He lightly squeezed John's hand, and was rewarded by an encouraging smile.

"Good. Now what about other things? You know, the more," he paused a moment, chewing his lip while contemplating how to phrase his sentence. Raising his eyebrows pointedly, he finished, "intimate things."

Sherlock shifted in his seat. "You may recall me telling Mycroft how 'sex does not alarm me,' that day at Buckingham Palace; however, I may have been a tad less than truthful in that statement," he said with a grimace. "I hope that is not too disappointing for you."

"Honestly, I was kind of expecting that."

"Really?"

"Well, yeah. I know how hesitant you were starting with the little physical things, and I also know that you would say or agree to anything to prove Mycroft wrong. So, it's not really all that surprising to hear you say now that sex is something that makes you uncomfortable."

"It seems rather," Sherlock's brow furrowed, "messy. And the least economical way to take care of biological needs, at least, according to my research."

John grinned in amusement. "Research?"

"That is to say, limited, but necessary experimentation with relieving natural urges."

"And was that your very roundabout way of saying that while sex seems unappealing, you still indulge in the occasional quick wank?"

Sherlock cringed. "Tastefully put, John." The blond man chuckled in response.

"I do try. Besides, I love the wonderful pink your cheeks turn when I say something that embarrasses you." John reached up, stroking across the other man's prominent cheekbones with the softest of touches. "Just like that."

"Yes, well," Sherlock cleared his throat, "I was thinking that perhaps we could make an attempt at intimate acts."

Seeing his discomfort with the topic, John eyed him cautiously. "Sherlock," he said carefully, "Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"No, I mean it. Are you completely sure that is something you want to try?" He frowned as the other man hesitated.

"John. Don't feel as if you have to be doubly sure of my decisions. I am an adult man; I am able to decide these things myself.

"I know that." He flicked his eyes down Sherlock's body and back up quickly. "God do I know that."

"So there we are. We both agree that I can make this decision, and if it is a situation which I end up not finding pleasant we can stop."

"I don't know, Sherlock," John said with a frown. "I can see that talking about it makes you uncomfortable, so it would just feel wrong to try anything you aren't really ready for."

"I'm not suggesting it as an activity for tonight, or later in the week even." Sherlock shot John his best how-could-you-be-so-stupid look, which was met with a tut and an eye roll.

"Good. Give yourself time to really think before trying anything."

"I've had thirty years of thinking."

John chuckled. "No you haven't."

Resisting the urge to stick his nose in the air and quip back 'Yes I have,' Sherlock scowled. "And you know this how?" he asked dryly.

"I know this because you said that your first kiss, which happened to be the only one before me, was when you were sixteen, and that it shocked you because you hadn't thought about romantic relationships before that girl kissed you. And knowing, also, that for the next fifteen years or so you actively avoided even contemplating anything else along those lines, you have most certainly not had thirty years of it." John laughed at the petulant look on his friend's face. "Oh, now don't start pouting! I said that we would try it at some point. It isn't like I shot down the idea all together." Sherlock's scowl flickered before being screwed down tight once more. "Besides, I hardly ever get to correct you on something not involving social niceties, so just let me have this one. Allow me to totally savour the moment."

Sherlock scoffed, rolling his eyes, but his act of feigned annoyance failed to be believable when affection seeped through his voice. "As you wish," he said sincerely before moving to rest his head on John's lap, long legs bending, folding himself onto the couch. He hummed softly in the back of his throat, almost a purr, as gentle fingers carded through his hair.

"I'm glad we had this discussion," Sherlock rumbled after a few minutes of silence.

"Hmm, yeah?" John said absently, enjoying the quiet moment together.

"Yes." Sherlock flipped onto his back in order to see John as he spoke. "You were correct in saying that it would need to be discussed eventually. It is a good thing that we got it all out of the way in one fell swoop, even if it was a less than pleasant thing."

John stifled a yawn, saying, "That's good, I'm glad you understand. Not that I thought you wouldn't. Your mind is practically a computer."

"True." The older man rolled his eyes at his companion's superior, self-satisfied tone, but finding it rather endearing all the same.

"Let's go to bed." Sherlock rose gracefully, grasping John's hand and pulling him gently from the sofa. "Come along."

"Sherlock." The dark haired man glared at him impatiently. "Do you mean together? Because we just had that talk about not doing anything yet and this seems to go against that idea."

"Obviously I mean together, or I would not be attempting to take you with me to the bedroom. However, I was unaware that two people could not share a bed without engaging in a sexual activity."

"Well, there's no rule against it, it just doesn't seem to happen super often if you haven't been together for a while."

"Then, if you have no objections, I think it would be nice to feel the warmth of your body next to me as I sleep."

John chuckled. "Nope. No objections," he agreed, before allowing himself to be led into Sherlock's bedroom. He tried not to watch too keenly as Sherlock stripped down to his briefs before pulling on a pair of pyjama bottoms. Sherlock flushed slightly, catching his gaze, and wrapped a slim arm around his naked torso self-consciously.

"You can go and get your pyjamas instead of just standing there, if you'd like." He turned toward the ensuite to brush his teen. He paused, saying, "I prefer the left side, in case you were wondering," before closing the door behind him. When he left the bathroom, John was seated on the right side of the bed wearing a faded army t-shirt and blue-checked boxers. Sliding under the duvet, he motioned for the older man to do the same.

"Despite this being my idea, I am unclear on the protocol to be followed here," he said after a few moments of lying nearly a foot apart, not touching.

"Well," John replied, "you do whatever feels natural." Sherlock shifted so that their arms were touching. He smiled as John reached over for his hand, giving it a light squeeze. Then, hesitantly, the younger man rolled onto his side, resting he head on John's chest, one hand splayed flat over the older man's heart.

"Is this all right?"

John wrapped his arms around Sherlock's almost too thin frame and nuzzled his nose into the top of his head. "Very," he said softly.

"Good," Sherlock muttered, already beginning to drift off to sleep as calloused fingers traced along his spine.

John sighed happily, thinking that if getting to hold the consulting detective as he slept was the most physical they got, he wouldn't really mind. It was worth never getting shagged again just to have as much of Sherlock as the younger man would allow.

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A/n: I hope you enjoyed this! It was a really personal story, in that it helped me sort out a few issues as I wrote it, so it is very close to my heart. Leave a review and let me know what you thought!


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